


we're only young forever

by brendonurie



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Meh, cute junk, rated teen for language i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brendonurie/pseuds/brendonurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ryan and brendon's first night together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're only young forever

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to think this takes place somewhere sometime in canon. it's a tiny sweet baby sized one-shot. it's also my first ryden ever.

                We stumble through the door, all bubbles and laughter. My keys jingle and clang in my hand but they don’t distract me from the boy whose hand is around my waist.

Brendon has his keys out too, even though neither of us drove and this is my house. He told me once that I was like home. I still don’t know what he meant by that.

He still smells like Jameson; it’s all over him. Around 12 he stopped drinking most of his drinks and started spilling them. I don’t mind.

I’m not sure when I fell in love with him; I can’t pinpoint the moment or even the day. I just know that I love him more than I love myself.

His deep brown eyes glow like half-lidded embers and I don’t know the last time I felt so lost. His skin is like cream and his hair like coffee. I don’t know for sure, but his lips look like they taste like sugar.

I don’t know what I did to deserve the dreaded fate of unrequited love, but I know that I’d wait a thousand lifetimes for him. My penance is easy, a blink of an eye, if I can find him in my arms at the end of it. I’ve never heard of soulmates that the universe kept apart on purpose.

                He’s spending the night, but that’s not new; we’ve slept in the same bed countless times and this won’t be any different. We’ll fall asleep laughing and talking, we’ll share secrets and talk about pretty girls. He’ll fall asleep facing me and I’ll fall asleep watching him. I’ll wake up and he’ll be downstairs already, eating sugary cereal and watching TV. That’s fine.

 

                Brendon flops down onto the couch, sighing loudly. His eyes already droop closed and his mouth hangs open the slightest bit. I sit on his legs and he whines.

                “That hurts. I’m tired.”

                “That sucks. Go to bed.”

                “What do you think I’m tryna’ do?”

                “I think you’re tryin’ to get me to carry you up.”

                “Ryan, you’re so smart. I love you.” I nearly choke. He says it all the time, but it still sucks.

                “And I you.”

                “You gonna carry me or what?”

                “Shit, I’ll give it a shot.” Brendon gives a weak little cheer that turns into a yawn. “C’mere, put your arms around my neck.”

                His movements are slow and clumsy, sleepiness and drunkenness taking a toll on his coordination. He’s sort of heavy, but I'm taller than him, and I said I’d try.

                I hook one arm beneath his back and one under his legs in the crook of his knee.  I start to lift him and immediately feel a twinge of pain in my back, but it’s too late to go back now. I heft him up and shift his weight around until I can walk with him.

                I manage to get up to the landing halfway up the stairs, and I can’t go on with him in my arms. I’ve almost fallen backwards on every step.

                “Bren, I gotta put you down.”

                “Nooo.”

                “Yes.” I begin to lower my right arm to place his feet on the floor. I have to shift so that his weight is balanced and he can stand. As soon as I’m no longer supporting him, I stand back up and find his arms still around my neck. My hands reflexively fall onto his hips and I can’t bring myself to take them off again. His eyes are half-shut again but I can see him thinking. I swallow, but my throat is dry. He looks up.

                “Do you love me?”

                “What do you mean?”

                “You know what I mean.”

                “No, I don’t –“

                “Shut up, Ryan.”

                Before I have a chance to close my mouth, he closes it for me with his. He kisses me and kisses me. I can’t stop my mind from racing, though. This is what I’ve wanted for so long, but he’s drunk. I’m drunk. I don’t want to let it happen this way.

                I kiss back.

                He’s not kissing like a drunk person, and I’ve certainly sobered up since we got here.

                I figure it’s okay.

                We find our way to my bed and undress each other. It’s not graceful, but it’s beautiful. It’s hot and soft and quiet. We fumble with newness, trying hard to discover each other in every way. We forget about everything and we fill the space with each other. We tire one another out, our lips swollen with kisses and our bodies swollen with passion.

He falls asleep with his head on my chest and I lay awake willing the moon to stay in the sky.

***

I sleep fitfully, wanting always to feel him and breathe him in. He’s always there when I wake up; under my arm, on my bare chest, pressed against me somehow. He never disappears like I fear he will. I don’t dream, but I think he does. Watching him twitch and hearing his breath shudder helps me fall back to sleep.

***

                I can hear something far away; it’s sweet and it’s longing. It’s warm, it’s probably a voice. It sounds a lot like singing, and I want to get closer, hear it better. I want to wake Brendon up and listen with him, but I can’t bring myself to wake up. I’m tired, I’m tired and I want to sleep. But the voice is beckoning. I breathe deep and prepare myself for the day.

                “Bren, wake up.” I don’t sense him stirring. “Bren, are you up?”

                I open my eyes fully, and I’m greeted by an empty half of a bed. I can still hear the voice, so I move to investigate.

                The closer I get, the more I recognize the voice as Brendon’s. He’s singing to himself in my kitchen. The melody he’s singing isn’t one I recognize; it’s sweet and slow, it sounds like he’s making it up as he goes.

                “We’re only young forever, and only fall in love a hundred times,  
                I’d grow old with you, my dear, and fall for all your crimes.”

                It’s good, I like it. I hang back in the door way of the kitchen, listening to him sing. I’d like to think he’s singing about us, but I try not to be conceited. His back muscles move and flex as he shuffles around dishes and pans. He’s making breakfast, and he’s singing while he does it. The scene warms my heart and I make an effort to capture all the details and remember them.

                I finally move to the table and make my presence known. His singing stops abruptly when he hears the chair scrape across the floor.

                “Jesus, you scared me, you asshole.”

                “Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

                “And you did anyway. How does it feel to be a failure?”

                “Pretty good if it means I get to watch you cook for me.”

                He rolls his eyes at me and continues ad-libbing sweet little pieces of songs. The moon didn’t stay in the sky last night, but the day is pretty nice too.


End file.
